Demon Hunters: Gone to Texas
by Tytillo
Summary: Demon Hunter Team, Omega 15 has been decimated twice before, this time at the hand of the turncoats, Alpha 1. Expecting to be in Hell, but somehow in the heart of Texas, Chris and Gabriel join Mu 2 as something evil comes across the border. Yeehaw, ya'll!
1. Chapter 0

_Author's note: I do not own any part of Dead Gentleman Production's Demon Hunter movies or RPG, gosh darn. Any similarities between cities or people represented here is pure coincidence or literary license (which is current and up to date). Any offense the reader may take from the story is purely their own, and they are welcome to keep it. Sharing offense is not necessary. Donated comments, however, are duly appreciated as our writer subsists on a steady diet of baloney and cheeze. Thank you._

Gone to Texas

0.

The bleached sand, white as powdered bone, blew endlessly around Chris's ankle and annoyingly ended up right back in the shoe he'd just emptied. The right shoe, never the left one. Being in Hell really sucked. Even in the constant twilight it was still hot. Hella hot. Resigned, he sat on the side of a dune and emptied his sneakers for the umpteenth time. He figured the heat, the dark, and the maddening sand were all rather logical considering the location, but knowing the nature of the beast didn't make it any more tolerable. It felt like he had been walking for eons. Heck, he probably _had_ been walking for eons. The blisters on the bottom of his feet were the size of pine cones, which is exactly what it felt he had been walking on for the last millennia since they watched the Hellgate vanish behind them. At least there was no sun in Hell. Thanks to Sophia that new complication meant he was alive, but eternally damned. No change there. Sighing, he pulled his shoe back on and stood up, just in time for a sudden gust of hot wind to blow sand down the back of Chris's shirt and straight into his underwear. Revision. Hell _really_ sucked.

"Gabe! Gabriel! Sophia? La Ciphra?..." Damn it, he'd even take Silent Jim shooting him in the chest again just to have someone to talk to…and maybe a snack. Chris ran his tongue over his lately lengthened canines. Humans just didn't realize how tasty they were! Another gust of hot wind smacked him in the back of the neck. Chris winced and ducked, looking around for Gabriel before remembering his former team leader had vanished just as mysteriously as everyone else. Part of Chris's lip pulled back unsheathing a fang; then another gust of hot wind scorched Chris's backside.

"Damn!" He looked around the blasted waste. Nothing besides sand and rock for miles. That didn't mean something wasn't out there though, and in Chris's experience good or evil could both be lethally dangerous. But then, now that he had been "changed" wasn't he dangerous as well? In a sudden surge of energy, Chris launched himself off of the dune and into the air. Leaping again and again he went bounding like a small, white tick from heap top to heap top, only stopping when the sand chaffing in his underwear elastic started making a rash. When he stopped he wasn't even really winded. The landscape even looked a little different. Maybe he could actually get somewhere in Hell. Chris's bloodshot eyes could even make out scrub and withered trees on the horizon. It was almost like it was getting brighter out, but it was also getting hotter. _Really_ a lot hotter.

"Hotter than heck! Ow!" His sand rash was beginning to burn. Chris looked around.

"Anybody out here?" His holler echoed unanswered across the emptiness. "Hello?"

Well, he was definitely all alone, so who would care if he made himself a little more comfortable? He had his shirt off and pants down by the time he realized the landscape really _was_ lighter and not just because of his new eyes. As the first solid rays came over the horizon, Chris found himself frozen in awe and horror at the raw, terrible realization.

"The sun comes up in Hell, too. Huh! I'll be damned!" Then his face burst into flames.

"AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" The burning itch in his sandy loins was no longer his primary concern. Shedding everything, Chris hot-footed it across the dunes, sun rising behind him, smell of burning hair filling his nostrils. He ran hoping, praying that he could find a rock to crawl under or a hole to hide in before he went up like a dried out Christmas tree at a smoker's convention.

"AAAAAaaaggghhh! My ass is on fire!" Along with the rest of him, Chris was quickly becoming the Human Torch. Which is perhaps why he did not see the black SUV parked at the bottom of the hill. The first he knew of it was when a dark figure stood up and smacked him across the face with a two-by-four. As soon as Chris hit the ground, four other figures with a giant, woolly Mexican blanket descended upon him, beating out the flames, then rolling him up inside like a rug. Unfortunately, one of the crew apparently didn't know the flames were out and kept beating on him.

"Ow! OW! Dude! It's out! The flames are out already. I'm not on fire anymore! OW! Quit kicking me!" Whoever is was paused, then gave Chris one more hefty kick before the whole scorched-Chris enchilada was picked up and thrown none too gently in the trunk of the SUV.

"Dis is your amigo, jeffa?" There was a long painful sigh before an answer.

"Si, José. The man running naked and on fire across the desert is my…amigo, Chris."

"Dat being on fire is a very strange thing, jeffa. You sure dat's normal?" another voice asked. Another long-suffering sigh. It really sounded very familiar, but Chris couldn't quite place it.

"He's, uh, Canadian. Very fair skinned. Sun burns easily." At the mention of 'Canadian' there was a group "Ahh! Si, te comprendo." Chris was sure of it now; he definitely knew that exasperated sigh! Inching like a worm Chris wiggled until he could poke his head out the top of the blanket.

"Gabriel!" his team leader's happy smile looked more like a grimace, but Chris just knew the man was glad to see him again.

"Hello, Weener. How are you doing?" Chris was hurt. After all this time he had _hoped_ Gabriel would finally get his last name right.

"It's Weiner. _Vy-Ner_! It's Austrian, geez. And I feel like a piece of bacon, extra crispy." The SUV went over something large, rocking violently and throwing Chris roughly against the molded plastic interior.

"Ow! Uh, hey Gabriel, do I have to stay in the trunk, or can I have a seatbelt or something?" The other passengers, all very dark and swarthy, looked uncomfortably amongst themselves. He wondered if they were related to La Ciphra. Gabriel put a hand over his eyes and squeezed his temples.

"No Chris, nobody wants to sit next to the naked man. You stay in the trunk until we get to the next town. Then, we'll see."

"Into town? Does Hell have towns?" One of the other men answered him.

"Si, senor, we are heading to El Paso!"

"What?!" Gabriel shook his head and held up a hand trying to get Chris to shut up before he asked anymore questions.

"Gabriel, where the Hell are we?"

"We're not _in_ Hell, Chris. We're in Texas."


	2. Chapter 1

1.

"So not cute." Ms. Amiée Lieu checked her hair in the dark reflection of the Apollo Art Academy at Austin's front windows. A particular strand of burnished auburn hair had once again dislodged and flopped like a sad puppy ear into her face. Her students may have thought it cute when the young professor huffed and puffed to keep the red ringlets out of her Irish blue and silver-flecked eyes, but already treated more as a peer than an authority, Ms. Lieu was just about ready to hack off the offending fringe.

It did not help that September had grown cold and windy unexpectedly early, possibly due to El Nino. It had been pouring rain on and off all day long. Not a good situation for short, black business skirts and three-inch heels. Aimée had a stack of tomes from the "oldies but goldies" section of the library, which meant just one book out of the stack was worth more than her monthly salary alone. Apparently, ancient demon lore from the Summarian empire was in rather high demand. As good as friends as she was with Jill the librarian, it had nearly taken a blood pact and promise of her first born before Aimée was allowed to take the book out of the library. Of course now the problem was getting it to the car without it dissolving in the rain. She'd been waiting three hours for it to let up, contenting herself to read the forgotten wisdom of past acolytes. At last the downpour relented.

Amiée shivered happily as she put up her yellow polka-dot golf umbrella and stepped out into the smell of leaves and wet earth, even while the wind tugged the stubborn lock straight up again, like a quail crest. She almost skipped through the dusky twilight parking lot, but refrained, lest a student catch her. The school was on the edge of Austin development, so even though there were fast food restaurants and suburbs on the other side of the highway, the school itself sat surrounded on three sides by long, green fields and tall wild flowers. Sometimes Amiée imagined unseen eyes watched or improbable creatures lurked, laughing at the oblivious students and instructors as they hurried by. In a lonely moment she wondered if anyone else ever speculated not just about the nature of the unseen, but whether there was some part to play in a grander story that they were all missing out on just because of their preoccupation with "normal life".

If she had not already been staring into the dark fields that surrounded the school, Aimée might have missed it all together. The splash of color barely peeked from the drainage ditch, easily mistakable for another patch of wildflowers or trash from the nearby construction site. In a moment of whimsy, Aimée wandered over to see what the heap of color was. The realization of what she was viewing completely knocked the sense out of her, and the books tumbled from her arms and hit the ground.

"Sheep shat!" blinking her eyes and scrambling about, she recollected the books, then turned to look again, knees still wobbly. "Oh-my-god…total wtf moment here!"

She looked around just to see if someone else was there to act as witness or at least tell her if it was some sick joke. No one. If there's one thing academics know, however, it's the importance of evidence. No one would believe her, but ironically they might believe her iPhone.

As was, only the brief blur of movement and soft 'thump' about thirty feet from where she was snapping pictures alerted her to another presence. The purple-clad individual was wearing the traditional ninja uniform, shinobi shozoku, which Aimée only knew from her hobby of martial arts. Still, when the Purple Ninja rolled to his feet, winced in pain, then, spotting her, motioned with a finger to his mask to be quiet and stay low, she figured it might be a good time to put some of those self defense lessons to good use. She ducked behind a row of cars just in time to see where the Purple Ninja had plummeted from.

From the top of the Apollo Academy four stories up, six huge forms appeared that almost looked like giant crows. Aimée held her breath as they silently leaped from the roof top and glided like winged death, touching down in a circle around the ninja. Electric prickles ran like blue fire down her spine as Aimée watched the feathers melt away into…an Asian biker gang?

"Are you freaking kidding me? Ten years of Cultural Studies, and they look like this?" Digging through her vast mental repertoire of all things mythological and fantastic, Aimée was pretty sure she had just seen a flock of Karasu Tengu land in the fields of outer Austin. Though, from the looks of things, perhaps they should be referred to as a "murder" of Tengu instead. The leather clad, mask-wearing crow-demons pulled chains, knives, swords, kama, even a huge spiked bat from their jackets and began to close in on the Purple Ninja.

Aimée crouched low beside her car, umbrella clutched like a club in her hand, and watched in agonized suspense as the fight ensued. It seemed though bleeding profusely and obviously suffering from several broken ribs and possibly a broken leg, the Purple Ninja was still quite a match for the overly-aggressive Tengu. He whirled and dodged nimbly, tumbled behind another, punched him in the kidneys, then threw the bird-man into another on coming attacker. In fact, the Purple Ninja was so busy kicking butt, he didn't even notice when the seventh Tengu joined the fight. This one was different, bigger, quieter, like a giant hawk, waiting to pounce. It hung back and watched the crow Tengu fling themselves uselessly at the ninja, only to be beaten down again and again. Aimée knew that look. If she didn't make up her mind soon, the Purple Ninja might find his winning streak broken. Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled her shoes, pushed herself to her feet, and popped open the trunk of her car where she kept her practice bokken.

"He-Hey! You guys better break it up! I'm calling the cops!" Aimée winced. God, that sounded like some dumb chick off of the SciFi channel right before she got her face ripped off by the monster. The noise got the hawk demon's attention though. For a second Aimée wobbled under the intensity of the yellow-eyed hungry glare. She dropped the books in the trunk, took up the wooden sword's handle, and suddenly realized the hawk was a lot closer. Fast! Very fast! With a shriek of alarm she blocked with her umbrella and lashed out with the bokken, almost catching him across the face. He pulled back too quickly though. The bird cocked his head sideways to look at her, then made a fist and punched at her head faster than she could see. Luckily, Aimée figured that was coming and had dropped and rolled out of the way. The punch wooshed passed her ear and smashed through the window of her car.

"Damnit! How am I going to explain that one to insurance?" At least the books were still safe in her trunk. Lord help her if she had to explain to Jill that her antique tomes were shredded by giant ravening mythological Japanese bird demons. The hawk demon apparently thought there were better ways of getting to his prey. Instead of waiting for Aimée to come out from behind the vehicle, he flipped the whole car into the neighboring field, right on top of the Purple Ninja. The raptor laughed at the horrified look on her face, beak open and hissing foul demonic curses. Aimée did not appreciate being cursed at in any language. Something deep in a locked away corner of her soul discovered she _really_ hated being cursed at in demonic tongue. Apparently, there was a lot of pent up frustration buried in the cores of academic protocol and appropriate behavior. All of it came bursting free as the Hawk stepped forward, assuming his victory.

"Yaaaggghh!!" Like a blur she slashed and stabbed, dodging and whirling just as fast as the demon she danced with. For once all the hard work and sweat, all the training and conditioning were there for her. With a final furious strike, she slammed the boken into the Hawk's arm, then when it clutched, and made to dodge away, she pounced, driving the metal point of her umbrella deep into the demon's back, through its ichor black heart, and out the other side.

For a moment she just stood there panting, looking around at the carnage. Apparently, upon death Tengu reverted back to their avian forms. Several withered away, curling up like the Witch of the West, and vanished into the air. It looked like the Purple Ninja had kept his record intact. With a gasp, Aimée ran over to her upside-down car. She kicked the side realizing her books were still trapped inside the crumpled trunk. A low moan of pain drew her attention to the other side of the car. In utter amazement she realized the Purple Ninja was still alive…sorta.

From the waist down he was flattened under the car. Feebly, he motioned her over. She had to bend low to hear his agonized words.

"Were…the Tengu…defeated?" Aimée found herself tearing up as she clutched the heroic man's hand. She nodded.

"Yes, you won! They're all dead, even the big one. Hey, It's all right. We'll get you some help, and you'll be just fine…sorta" The Purple Ninja tried to sit up to look around, but the effort only caused more pain. With a stiffled groan he fell back, shaking his head.

"No…listen my child…this is only the beginning! You must take this; keep it safe." Something small and crunchy was pressed into Aimée's hand. From the texture, she really didn't want to look at it right now, so she stuck it in her shirt pocket. The Purple Ninja muttered something else she couldn't quite make out.

"What?" She leaned closer trying to hear his words.

"It looks like….the Purple…Ninja's…winning streak…is officially…broken…Fuuk…u."

"What?!" But what else could be said? The man was gone. She wondered momentarily if she should remove his mask, but the police or medical examiners would probably want to do that. She stood up and looked around, trying to figure out how exactly she could explain all of this to a skeptical world, then she remembered her phone. Where had it gone?

Just then a white 1970's Cadillac convertible with a six-foot wide wrack of horns strapped to the grill pulled into the parking lot, right into the space her car used to occupy. About five people piled out of the car, all dressed in dark clothing, all staring directly at her. She figured it was quite a sight. A red-haired punk pixie in a short black skirt and untucked white blouse standing in her stocking, gripping a wooden sword in the middle of a muddy field strewn with broken demons, an upended, smoking car, and a strange hawk figure with a yellow umbrella planted in his back. Keep Austin Weird. Hell yeah.

It had begun to rain again. Ironically, Aimée was more relieved that her books were indeed in the trunk of the smoldering car rather than out here slowly soaking to the bone. Of the five, the one that looked like Velma in a hoody and chunky sweat pants, took a cool look at the grounds then started moving forward. One of the men next to her put a hand out, said something, then stepped around and crossed towards Aimée as the other four hung back. He paused when he got to the dead hawk demon and yanked the umbrella out of its back, popping it open over his head. Khaki slacks, untucked button-down, and a nice sports jacket on a rainy day; he certainly had a preference for fashion. Aimée checked his shoes. She couldn't completely tell, but they almost looked like alligator skin boots. He must have caught her looking.

"As a matter of fact, they are alligator, but completely naturally raised. No inhumane conditions or anything like that." Aimée took a step back, letting the tip of the bokken raise a little. That just made him smile. And what a smile! Aimée couldn't help but notice feeling a little bit warmer, despite the downpour. "Here, I think this will do you a bit more good."

He held up the umbrella. Aimée hesitated, then took the handle from him. Before she could protest, he also slid his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders. No doubt now, her face was burning.

"The name's Johnny Dallas, dear, but most just call me Dallas." He paused and waited. She fumbled about mentally trying to figure out what to say to these people.

"Aimée Lieu. I, ah, I suppose all this looks a bit strange." Again he unleashed that dazzling, million-dollar smile. And had she mentioned his eyes? A warm, soft brown like hot tea and honey. All this topped with perfectly styled and probably bullet-proof hair, judging by the amount of "product" his coif seemd to be sporting, all to heart-melting effect. His hand closed casually over hers.

"No stranger than five armed individuals showing up to an art school in the middle of the night." That threw her. She checked, yes, there was a hand gun strapped to his hip, something small, black, and sleek.

"Are you law officers?"

"Mm, of a sort, but we answer to a higher law. Why don't you come over to the car and give us a rundown of what happened tonight. It looks like you might have some talent at demon hunting."

"Oh! The car! Um, there's a man trapped under my car. I should have mentioned it sooner but I was…distracted. I'm afraid he may already be dead. And um, I have books in the back I need to get." Dallas motioned to the rest of his crew to check out the flipped vehicle as he escorted Aimée back across the field. One of the other men dressed in black jeans and a red flannel shirt gave a low whistle once he got to the other side of the car.

"Got bad news, boys. Looks like the Purple Ninja's winning streak has been broken." A hispanic woman and some guy who looked like Ward Cleaver joined him at rolling the car back over. The Velma came over and met Aimée and Johnny out in the field. She almost looked like a fluffly barn owl, blinking through her coke-bottle thick glasses at Aimée before she stiffly stuck a hand out of the massive sweatshirt.

"I'm Ms. Halmost. Harriet Halmost, though I usually prefer Ms. Halmost for reference. It appears you've had a rather harrowing evening Miss…"

"This is Aimée Lieu, scholar, fencer, neophyte demon slayer, and all round bad ass chick, wouldn't you say?" Aimée was almost certain she could hear the rain sizzle and evaporate off the back of her burning neck. Ms. Halmost arched an eyebrow.

"Scholar? What do you study, Ms. Lieu?"

"Ah, well broadly I'm Cultural Studies, mostly mythological figures, legends, lore, archetypal motifs. Specifically, I'm a little more interested in obscure stories, mostly having to do with…demons or the infernal." She trailed off realizing that this perhaps was not the group of people she really wanted to divulge that type of information to.

"Interesting curriculum. Quite different from my school days." Ms. Halmost adjusted her glasses then pointed to one of the melted piles of feathers in the field. "Do you have any notion of what that is? Broadly speaking."

Aimée nodded, "A demon of sorts."

"And specifically?"

"Specifically, a Karasu Tengu, which is really closer to a goblin. Sometimes they are just mischievous pranksters and sometimes, well, sometimes they're really awful." Ms. Halmost nodded, seemingly satisfied, but something was still bothering Aimée. "But the last one is not specifically a Karasu Tengu, and it's not a Yamabushi Tengu either. It's something much…older."

She paused, but now the rest of the group had rejoined. Instead of a lecture, somehow it felt like giving her dissertation all over again. "If I were going to guess I would say it's a _Tiangou_, which is the Chinese "heaven-dog" predecessor to the Tengu, or even a _Garuda_, which is descended from a Hindu deity. It wouldn't be the original deity, I would think, but he was supposed to have six sons, great of might, little of compassion, that kind of thing. Maybe even some of their descendents survived, which might explain the diminished size. Traditionally, Garuda was _huge_, something like the more familiar myth of the Roc. Based on his behaviors, he's much more martially oriented with the power to move enormous objects, darken skies, cause hurricanes. Who knows, this odd weather might not be El Nino after all…"she trailed off realizing she was indeed launching into full lecture mode. "Um, yeah. And his patron deity is Vishnu." Dallas grinned and patted her on the back.

"Bet your profs just loooooove you. You probably teach them a thing or two now and then, don't you?" Aimée straightened, flipping back miscreant hair once agian. Damn her insufferable baby looks!

"Actually I _am_ one of the professors of the school. Maybe I didn't make it clear earlier. I _teach_ Cultural Studies-"

"With a personal interest in demonology." Ms. Halmost was giving her an unreadable look. Dallas was still studying her, perplexed.

"You're already a professor? Just how old are you anyway?" Aimée's nostrils flared.

"Not a very polite question, but for your information I'm 26. I finished undergraduate studies quickly and did a one year taught degree for my masters in Paris-" Suddenly, the group sprung back from her, producing guns, knives, and…a bazooka? "Uh, okay, I know France may not be one of our favorites right now, but come _on_! A bazooka?" Ms. Halmost looked around the barrel of the shoulder mount gun, her expressionless face almost sad.

"I'm afraid there's been a slight misunderstanding, Ms. Lieu." Dallas shook his head. His doe-brown eyes looked at her accusingly.

"I just can't believe she's twenty-six! I mean eighteen, maybe. But late twenties already?!" Aimée felt as though her heart had been ripped out. A slight misunderstanding? She had almost liked these people and now…Ow. She looked down. There was a large, black, taloned hand protruding from her chest, holding her still beating heart in its claws. Damnit. Literal puns sucked.

In the distance she heard screaming and shouting, but she wasn't sure if any of it was hers. The barrel of the bazooka was eye level, and she got a lot better view of it as the shell toasted the right side of her head and fried the Garuda behind her. As she fell, strangely painless, still holding her giant, yellow umbrella, all Aimée Lieu could think was, "Death is so not cute."


End file.
